It Rang
by 78840
Summary: This is a one shot based on Ray Bradbury's "The Pedestrian". It is supposed to be a continuation from where the story left off. Leonard Mead, The Research Center on Regressive Tendencies and the world in which the story occurs are property of Ray Bradbury. Gerard Smith, Jon Burton, Arthur Sampson, and the "Hostess" are all characters of my creating.


It had been long time since the last toll that bell gave. To be honest, I wasn't expecting it to toll ever again.

Yet, as I was lounging peacefully with the rest of the staff, watching the latest medical webinar on the wall, it rang.

I hated the sound of that bell, t'was as if a nuclear alarm and a high school bell had a child, with its decibel level raised to the nth power.

And promptly he came, our new subject, in a cage, carried by our in-house android.

He seemed like a decent man, but his petrified expression blured his soul.

The bell rang one last time before...

"Please, I have done nothing wrong!" He blurted out.

T'was probably the a millionth time I had heard that phrase. The "hostess" approached the subject. Her white lab coat caressing her thighs as she approached him. That coat was so exquisitely tailored, she probably did that herself, as tailors do not exist anymore. I was fond of the hostess, her blonde hair flowed so beautifully, but, I could never say so.

She began. "Welcome to the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies".

"Today you will be part of our newest program, the Neural Purge".

"Please! You've got the wrong man!" Said the subject.

"These lovely gentlemen will be taking care of you today. We hope you the best... Mr. Mead". Said the hostess as she revised her clipboard.

The android proceded to remove the subject from his restraints, only to then attach him to the surgical table.

"Nooo!" Screeched the subject as the needle lid through his pores and the anesthesia was supplied.

"Not much of a fighter that one". Said Jon Burton, one of my fellow co-workers. We'd been classmates at Cornell Medical School, and graduated together in 2041.

"Alright, let's focus chaps". I said as I reviewed the subjects medical sheet.

"Mead, Leaonard. Caucasian male, 46 years old, accused of... walking down the street?" My voice got a little high pitched near the end of that sentence.

"That's a first". Said Jon in a curious tone.

"Ok, Sampson, razor ready?" I asked Arthur Sampson, our tech expert.

"All systems up and running, all I need are you orders boss". He answered promptly.

"Engage in three...two...one." I said calmly.

A large mechanical arm lowered itself from overhead, it had a hole with spinning raros at its tip, like an overpowered cigar cutter.

The nasty part ensued, the skull was cracked open, and the team and I would remove most myelin from the subject's brain. Leonard Mead, had plenty of that stuff. Well, a lot more than what I expected from him at least. Finally, near the end of the procedure, the scalp was resown, and the subject was put in temporary cryogenisation.

After sixteen hours of surgery, we left triumphant, it had been a success, the subject's vital were stable, and hopefully his memory would be completely erased.

Exhausted, I waltzed over the men's room, splashed my face with erigid water, and looked up. My name shined in silver letter against the navy name plate: "SR. Gerard Smith, PhD." I had some dandruff on my chocolate brown hair, I didn't mess with it, I really didn't care. I unrolled my sleeves and put my cuff links back on.

Outside, I was met with the same long, white corredor that had greeted me ever since I got the job. I walked into the staff lounge to see most of my co-workers getting a bite from some sandwiches.

"Let's get out of here boys". "Get some BWW". "The Bowl is today". I said trying to lighten the notoriously tired mood.

"If I had one of those little bracelets that told time"... Said Jon. "Wrist clock" Interrupted Arthur. "What?" Asked Jon. "Wristclock, it's called a wrist clock". Replied Arthur. "Yeah, one of those. I would tell you that you're outta your mind, it's probably 3:00 AM." Said Jon.

"Dont' thank so". Said Arthur. "I'm with ya boss". He said cheerfully.

The guys followed me through the corridor. About forty meters away, from the door, I turned over to look at the hostess one last time. She looked back, but quickly turned away as if something were wrong. I understood. Maybe someday I would at least learn her name.

As we all walked out the door, the next shift walked in in a rush. In the parking lot the only police car screeched its tires as it brought in another subject. Two on the same day, it was a strange sight. It was another man in a cage, he screamed at us as he passed by.

I was so astonished I hand't even noticed that the sun was coming out. Truly beautiful, yet, nobody said anything about it.

We got in the white staff van and left for the restaurant. As I sat in the plush velvet-like seat I though about how the new shift's lead researcher, before surgery would also hear that hideous bell, ring for the first time, in quite a while...


End file.
